Under a Paper Moon
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series, a tag for 'Hell House', 1x17. Wincest.


**Fic contains dialogue from the episode Hell House. It belongs to Eric Kripke and Trey Callaway.**

****Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)****

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><p>"So, this morning we got a phone call from a very important Hollywood producer," Harry announces.<p>

"Oh yeah? Wrong number?" Dean asks.

"No, smartass," Ed answers. "He read all about the Hell House on our website, and wants to option the motion picture rights. Maybe even have us write it."

"And create the RPG!" Harry adds as he drops a paper grocery bag into the backseat of the car.

"The what?"

"Role-playing game."

"There's a little lingo for ya," Ed says with a smug smile. "Anywho, uh, excuse us, we're off to La-La-Land."

"Well, congratulations guys, that sounds great," Sam says good-naturedly.

"Yeah, that's awesome. Best of luck to you." Dean tries to hide his smirk, but he's not so sure he pulls it off. Doesn't matter, neither of them seem to notice.

"Oh, yeah, luck, it's got nothin' to do with it," Ed replies condescendingly. "It's just about talent, you know? Sheer, unabashed talent."

Dean has to grit his teeth to resist from punching the guy right in the nose. If his ego was any bigger, he'd trip on it. Ed flashes them a peace sign and says, "Later," and then they both get into the car, and if Dean never sees these clowns again it'll be much too soon.

"See you around," Ed adds as they drive away, and Dean looks up at Sam and they both huff in amusement and exasperation.

"Wow," Dean muses.

"I have a confession to make," Sam says quietly, leaning into Dean a little so he isn't overheard.

"What's that?"

"I, uh, I was the one who called them and told them I was a producer," Sam admits, grinning like an idiot.

Dean looks back over his shoulder at their car driving away, everything the two of them own strapped to the roof, and he bursts out laughing. "Yeah, well, I'm the one who put the dead fish in their backseat."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up into his hair and he laughs back, bright and free and happy and so beautiful Dean can't stop smiling.

"Truce?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, truce," Dean agrees. "At least for the next hundred miles."

Sam rolls his eyes a little, but he gets into the car after Dean, and Dean switches the radio on as he puts the Impala into drive and pulls her out of the trailer park. This hunt wasn't quite a cut-and-dry salt and burn, but it was pretty damn close, and those are Dean's favorite kind. No lasting complications, no freaky connections to Sam or to their family, no major injuries and Dean's a happy camper. Not to mention the fact that Sam's still smiling and shaking his head a little, and it's been a really, really long time since Dean's seen Sam's face lit up like that. Sam's laugh is like music to Dean's ears, and his wide, white-toothed smile never fails to get Dean's stomach doing tickly little flips. He's missed those dimples too. It's been far too long since either of them have had anything to smile about, but it hasn't been so long that Dean's forgotten the feeling of wanting to get lost in those dimples. Sam's really breathtakingly beautiful – always is, but especially when he's smiling.

It's another fifteen minutes or so before either of them say anything else, but it's a comfortable silence. Dean's not driving anywhere in particular, he's just driving, and Sam's got a map spread out on his lap. Dean's not sure exactly what he's looking for – might not be looking for anything at all. Sometimes Sam just likes to look at maps, cause he's a dork like that. The tip of his tongue is poking out of the side of his mouth, though, like it does when he's concentrating, and it's so cute Dean wants nothing more than to pull over to the gravel shoulder and kiss him until they can't breathe. His mind drifts back to the other day, to Sam coming out of the shower in nothing but that tiny, threadbare towel, his tanned skin all damp and shiny and the muscles in his chest rippling just under the surface. Dean sort of hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since it happened. It's nothing he hasn't seen before; he sees Sam completely naked practically every day, but it hits him particularly hard sometimes how unbelievably gorgeous Sam is and how lucky Dean is to get him all to himself.

He shifts a little on the seat, his jeans suddenly a bit too tight. It's been almost seventy-two hours since he last got off, which wouldn't have been a big deal a few months ago but lately he's barely been able to keep his hands off Sam and Sam hasn't seemed to mind at all. Sam's always liked sex just as much as Dean does, although he'd never in a million years admit it, and if when they were kids Sam was insatiable it's just gotten a hundred percent worse. Or, a hundred percent better, since it means Dean's getting laid more regularly than he ever has in his life. He glances over at his brother again, and in addition to the tongue thing there's now an adorable little frown creasing the skin between Sam's eyebrows, and Dean shifts again, resisting the urge to press his palm down over his crotch to relieve the pressure.

Sam looks up when he sees Dean move, his expression one of concern at first but it quickly melts into a mischievous little grin when his eyes settle below Dean's waist and he figures out why Dean's so restless all of a sudden.

"You okay over there?" Sam asks lightly, just a hint of a smirk in his voice.

"Peachy," Dean grinds out. Hey, it isn't his fault he's hard up and it's _so_ not cool that Sam's enjoying it.

"You, uh … want me to drive for a while? You look a little stiff," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes at the terrible joke.

"Oh, you're just hilarious," he answers sarcastically. "Dude, it's been like three days, aren't you horny?"

Sam shrugs. "Yeah. Kinda."

"You know, um, what I keep thinking about?" Dean's not completely sure he wants Sam to know, but at the same time he does, because Sam's got this stupid thing where he's the most gorgeous mother-fucker on the face of the planet but he doesn't _know_ he is. He's still got that sweet, bashful, farm-boy charm quality, which mostly adds to his appeal, but sometimes Dean thinks Sam isn't nearly as self-assured as he should be.

"What?"

"You comin' outta the shower the other day," Dean says.

"Right after you put itching powder in my shorts, you mean?" Sam replies with a quirked eyebrow, and Dean chuckles.

"That was awesome."

"That was _mean_," Sam corrects, but Dean can tell he isn't really angry.

"No meaner than you gluing my hand to a beer bottle!" Dean protests. "And besides, that wasn't my point."

"Right. Your point was you've been thinking about me half naked and wet."

Dean huffs affectionately. "Yeah, that."

Sam smiles and slides a little closer on the bench seat. "And that's what's got you in your current predicament?" he asks, nodding toward the bulge in Dean's pants.

"Uh huh," Dean answers, glancing over at Sam and frowning at the expression on his brother's face. Sam's still smiling, but it's almost a surprised smile, like he doesn't quite believe what Dean's saying. "What's with the face?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon, what?" Dean pushes.

"No, nothing, it's just …" Sam shrugs. "S'nice to know I … affect you, like that."

"'Course you do." Dean slides his hand over to Sam's thigh and squeezes. "You looked so fuckin' hot, Sammy."

Sam smiles shyly up at Dean from under his bangs. "Yeah?"

"Mhm." Dean catches the sleeve of Sam's shirt and tugs it so Sam moves in a little closer.

"What, uh, what else have you been thinking about?" Sam asks softly, crowding right into Dean's space and trailing the tip of his nose up Dean's cheek.

Dean takes a shaky breath, the temporarily faded arousal flushing back in full force. "Your skin. All these little water droplets running down your chest, I wanted to lick them off. You were all flushed from the shower, that tiny little towel barely covering you up. Wanted to jump you right there."

Sam hums, snaking his hand around Dean's waist and pushing his fingers under the hem of his shirt. "You should'a."

"Couldn't. We had a case to work." Dean awkwardly bends his arm up so he can card his fingers through Sam's hair. Sam leans into his hand, and Dean smiles.

Sam kisses just below Dean's ear and then he whispers right into it, his rough baritone going straight to Dean's cock. "Sometimes I want you so bad it's hard to breathe."

He trails his fingers over Dean's belly, deftly unhooking the button on Dean's jeans and pushing his hand down into them. For a minute, he just pets along the skin under the waistband of Dean's boxers, just above where the head of his cock is pressing into the zipper but not quite touching it. Dean usually likes that kind of slow teasing, but right now he isn't in the mood for foreplay and he grunts impatiently. Sam chuckles, deep and thick, and pushes his hand further into Dean's jeans and wraps it around Dean's erection. His hand is like fire on Dean's sensitive skin as he squeezes and drags his palm up and down, twisting on the way up and swiping his thumb over the leaking slit.

"Shit, Sammy," Dean breathes, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are turning white.

"Would you've done this yourself, later? If I hadn't?" Sam asks huskily, spreading Dean's precome down the shaft and working it in a slow, easy rhythm.

Dean swallows, his throat clicking audibly. "Yeah. Probably."

"Would you've thought about me?"

"Fuck," Dean moans. He's so turned on he can barely think, let alone put together a sentence. "Yeah. Always think 'bout you."

Sam smiles against Dean's neck, he feels that rather than sees it, and then Sam attaches his lips to a patch of Dean's skin and sucks. "Tell me what you think about."

"You all naked and spread out for me," Dean answers, a little waver in his voice that's only partly because of Sam jerking him off. Mostly, it's nervous excitement, because they never talk like this. They just have sex, they don't _talk_ about it. Dean's starting to think he might really like talking about it. "Or down on your knees, sucking my cock. Or letting me fuck you on the hood of my baby."

Sam groans quietly at the last one, digging his nail into the sensitive spot under the head of Dean's cock. "Sound's crazy hot, big brother."

A liquid hot swell of want crashes through Dean's body like it does every time Sam calls him that, the sheer wrongness of it all making everything so much hotter. "Really? You'd, uh … let me?"

"I could be persuaded."

The image alone has Dean so stirred up his vision whites out a little around the edges. And then Sam sucks Dean's earlobe into his mouth as he picks up the pace with his hand, and Dean nearly blacks out altogether. "_Fuck_. You gotta stop, man, m'gonna drive off the road."

"Then pull over," Sam whispers, the words smeared into the thin skin behind Dean's ear.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, using his few remaining brain cells to scan the stretch of wilderness in front of them for a good place to stop. There's a shoulder, he really could just plain pull over, but he's gonna need privacy for what he wants to do to Sam right now. If he even makes it that far, which, at the moment, is a very real concern. Sam has amazing hands. The skin is so soft Dean's convinced the little fucker must have a secret stash of moisturizer hidden away somewhere, but they're so _big_ and strong and Dean loves having them _anywhere_ on his body, but where they are right now in particular.

Less than a minute later, Dean spots a turnoff to a little country road, which is nothing short of a miracle because he's seriously seconds away from losing it. He manages to mostly shove Sam off, pulling the Impala off the highway and just far enough into a little patch of woods that they're isolated. It's pretty dark, the light from the streetlamps barely filtering through the trees, but the moon is full and it's a clear night so it'll do. He pulls the keys out and drops them onto the dash, tucks himself mostly back into his pants, and then gets out and stomps over to the passenger's side, wrenches the door open, and hauls Sam out. He slams the door shut again after him and then presses him up against the side of the car, smashing their lips together. Sam makes a muffled noise of surprise, but then he pulls Dean in closer with a handful of his shirt and kisses him back just as roughly. Sam's just as hard as Dean is, he can feel it pressed against his abdomen, and he rocks his hips into Sam's.

"God _damn_, Sammy," Dean murmurs into his brother's slick lips, "drivin' me fuckin' crazy." He should probably be a little bit worried about how much Sam affects him, how quickly and easily Sam can have him climbing the walls, because the more wrapped up he gets in this twisted little thing of theirs, the more crushed he's gonna be if Sam leaves again. _When_ Sam leaves again. But right now, Dean couldn't care less about any of that. He just wants Sam, and he wants him now.

"Me too." Sam nips at Dean's bottom lip and slides his hands up Dean's back; his big palms like hot coals on Dean's skin even through the material of his jacket and shirt. "Want you so much."

"Were you serious? 'Bout doin' it on the car?" Dean asks, almost afraid of the answer because he's maybe never wanted anything so much in his life.

"Yeah," Sam answers, a timid little smile on his face.

"Fuck," Dean moans, for, like, the tenth time. There's a reasonable chance that by the end of this night his vocabulary will have completely narrowed down to that one word.

"Why, um … how come you never told me you wanted that so much?" Sam asks tentatively. Dean shrugs and tries to kiss him again, but Sam pulls back slightly, a small frown twisting his forehead. "No, seriously. I mean, it isn't a surprise, considering how much you love this car, but why didn't you? Tell me, I mean."

"I dunno," Dean mumbles. "Guess I thought …"

"What?" Sam pushes gently, brushing the backs of his knuckles over Dean's cheek and resting their foreheads together.

Dean sighs. "I thought you might not be into it, but you'd do it anyway because you knew I wanted it. You do that, you know."

"You do too," Sam replies quietly.

"I know." Dean laughs softly and shrugs one shoulder. "Always want you to be happy."

"You being happy makes me happy," Sam says, lifting his head up and smiling sheepishly down at Dean. "Sorry, didn't mean to turn this into couple's therapy. Just … don't be afraid to tell me things like that, okay?"

"Okay." Dean smiles and kisses Sam, slower this time, sweeter, but still just as good. He doesn't linger for long, though, because he's been hard for so long he's seriously starting to worry there'll be permanent damage if he doesn't come soon. He deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across the seam of Sam's lips and humming happily when Sam opens up to let him in. Dean tastes the inside of his brother's mouth, swallowing down the flavor he knows as well as he knows every inch of Sam's body. Sam sucks on his tongue and swirls his own around it, gripping Dean's hips so tight there'll be bruises tomorrow but Dean doesn't care.

Dean's just about to pull Sam over to the front of the car, when Sam suddenly takes charge and does it for him. He guides Dean around the hood, stopping when the backs of his knees are against the grille, and then kissing him so hard Dean's pretty sure his lips are also going to be bruised.

"How d'you wanna do this?" he asks.

"God. Don't care," Sam moans, his lips slick and insistent against Dean's. "Just want you."

"'Kay. Bend over for me," Dean instructs, not thrilled about the idea of not being able to see Sam's face, but deciding it would probably wreck Sam's back with something akin to rugburn if he lied down on the metal hood. Sam listens without hesitation, spinning around and leaning over to rest his hands on the car. Dean has to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths to stop from coming in his shorts at the sight alone – Sam so willing and trusting, spreading himself out for Dean like that.

He reaches around Sam's waist, peppering kisses to the back of his neck as he gets Sam's jeans undone and tugs them down to his knees. Gravity gets them down the rest of the way so they pool around Sam's ankles, and Dean kneels down behind him, palming the globes of Sam's ass and spreading them so he can see Sam's tiny, puckered opening. He licks a stripe up from just behind Sam's balls to the top of his ass, and Sam lets out a surprised whuff of air and twitches a little.

"Shit," he whispers when Dean does it again, swirling his tongue in circles over Sam's hole, getting it wet and loose enough to push the tip of his tongue inside. He licks at Sam relentlessly, instantly addicted to the musky flavor, while Sam trembles and makes these beautiful little breathless noises that shoot straight to Dean's already too-hard cock. When Sam's rim starts to give a little, Dean sucks a finger into his mouth and then pushes it in alongside his tongue, opening Sam up and brushing along his prostate. Sam all-out moans at that, rocking back onto Dean's hand.

By the time he's up to three fingers Sam's mostly incoherent, groaning and gasping and begging Dean to get on with it already, and Dean's more than happy to comply. He presses a quick kiss to the dimples at the top of Sam's ass, and then dashes over to the trunk so he can wrestle a bottle of lube out from where he keeps it handy in an outside pocket on his duffle bag. He shoves his own pants down enough to get his cock out, slicking it up as he walks back to his brother; still bent over the hood and looking all shy and sweetly sexy even though he's a mess. Dean smiles, leaning over and twisting Sam's head so he can kiss him awkwardly from behind, while he lines his dick up and pushes into Sam's body.

Sam hisses and drops down to his elbows as the swollen head of Dean's cock passes through that first, still tight ring of muscle, and it takes every ounce of self-control Dean possess to slide in slowly and not just start pounding into his brother this second. He somehow manages to keep his head enough to bottom out, and then waits for a minute while Sam breathes and adjusts. Sooner than he expected, Sam cries, "Fuck, move!" and Dean doesn't need to be told twice.

The first few thrusts are like heaven, Dean's whole body feels like it's wrapped up just as tightly as his dick, hot and twitchy and his emotions entirely too close to the surface for his liking, but he doesn't have the brain-power left to care. Sam feels too good, and he's too fucking hot, bent over Dean's baby, the caramel skin on his hands such a stark contrast to the jet black of the car. Dean sort of wishes he'd thought to take the time getting Sam completely naked, because Sam's back is just as gorgeous as his front and it would probably be the hottest thing ever to have him spread out over the car with nothing on. Next time.

Sam's hair glints in the pale moonlight, and Dean gets one hand into it as he sets into a rhythm, rocking into Sam's slick, tight channel. Sam makes the most incredible noises when he's turned on enough to just let loose, and the little grunts and groans he lets slip every time the head of Dean's cock presses into his prostate are so sexy Dean's impressed with himself that he's managed to last this long. The shocks squeak, too, every time they move, and the sound is deafening even through the blood rushing in Dean's ears. He looses track of how long they move together, Sam pushing his ass back to meet Dean's every thrust, but it probably isn't as long as Dean would like it to be before he feels the familiar tingling low in his belly.

"Fuck, Sammy, should see yourself," he babbles involuntarily. "Look so god damn hot, so fuckin' sexy with my girl under you."

Sam moans something unintelligible in response, chocking out, "Touch me" after a few particularly brutal thrusts.

Dean slides his free hand around Sam's waist, leaning over a little as he does and changing the angle. Sam cries out, and Dean just manages to get a hand wrapped around his cock and give it a few hard strokes before Sam's coming, his inner muscles fluttering around Dean's cock as he shoots over Dean's hand and the hood of the car. The feeling of Sam clenching around him, and the sight of his release all over the Impala, is all it takes for Dean to follow him, breathing Sam's name harshly as waves of pleasure wash over him.

For a minute or two, he just lets himself stay slumped over Sam's back as his breathing slows back to normal, but Dean knows they aren't _that_ far off the highway and someone could still stumble upon them any second even if it is the middle of the night, so he pulls out of Sam and tucks himself back into his pants as Sam does the same. He catches just a glimpse of his own come leaking out of Sam's ass before Sam pulls his boxers up, and he feels a twinge of sympathy for his brother because that has to be uncomfortable, but mostly he feels another tiny swell of arousal at how hot it is – the thought of them driving all the way to a motel and Sam sitting there with a squishy mess in his underwear that Dean put there.

Then Sam turns around and all Dean can think about is how beautiful he looks in the moonlight and how goddamn lucky he is to have Sam back like this.

"So … we actually just did that," Dean says shakily.

"Yeah," Sam agrees with a goofy smile. "You realize we just broke a whole bunch of laws."

Dean snorts. "We break laws every day. And besides, this is rural Texas. It isn't the cops we gotta worry about, it's some yokel stringing us up in his backyard."

Sam laughs, but there's a strange look in his eyes as he slides his arms around Dean's waist and pulls him back into his chest. He kisses him, slow and thorough, and there's something different cracking in the air between them all of a sudden. Dean isn't sure what it is, but it feels like something important just shifted. It makes Dean feel unsure and vulnerable, so he wraps his arms around Sam's neck, pressing their bodies together as much as he can. Sam lets his lips fall away from Dean's, resting their foreheads together and breathing hot breaths onto Dean's cheek.

"Dean, I … I love you," he says softly, so softy Dean barely hears him.

A wave that's hot and cold at the same time sweeps over Dean's body; his chest clenching and his stomach feels like it drops about a foot into his gut. His heart races, and he has to close his eyes and grit his teeth to keep from gasping.

"I … Sam," Dean sighs, because he doesn't have a clue what else to say. He wishes he could say it back, he's always wished he could, and he doesn't know why he's never been able to. He feels it, he's always felt it, but it's like his mouth refuses to form the words.

"No, it's okay," Sam says quickly. "You don't have to say anything. I just … wanted you to know."

Dean frowns and squeezes his eyes even tighter closed. Sam probably can't see his expression with how close their faces are, and probably that's a good thing. He doesn't know how to react. It's halfway between terrifying and exhilarating, it kind of makes him feel sick, but mostly he just wants to be kissing Sam again so hopefully he can convey all the things with his lips and tongue that his voice never can. Sam kisses him back just as fervently, and Dean breathes a tiny, inward sigh of relief that Sam understands.

"It's a warm night," he says when they break apart again. "You wanna stick around for a while? Watch the stars?"

Sam smiles. "We haven't done that since we were kids."

Dean smiles back, kissing the corner of Sam's mouth briefly and then climbing onto the hood of the Impala. He tugs Sam with him, leaning back against the windshield and Sam lies beside him, his head leaned on Dean's shoulder.

"It's beautiful," Sam whispers, and Dean has the acute sense he isn't just talking about the stars.

Dean isn't either as he takes Sam's hand, intertwines their fingers, and agrees, "S'perfect."


End file.
